


Good Boy, There

by jedishampoo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: England tops, F/M, M/M, Sexual Slavery, UKUS, america/ukraine, ukxus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedishampoo/pseuds/jedishampoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>UKUSUK: Sometimes Alfred doesn't mind being a Pleasure slave. Sometimes, though, he dreams of another life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Boy, There

**Title: Good Boy, There**  
 **Pairing:** UKUSUK (Arthur/Alfred AU) (sort-of-side US/Ukraine)  
 **Rating/Warnings:** R-18; sex-slavery and the consent issues inherent in that, though I will say nobody is outwardly unwilling.  
 **Notes:** Written for a general [slave fic prompt](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11411.html?thread=26697875#t26697875) on the Hetalia kinkmeme. [Here's the kinkmeme link.](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/21753.html?thread=97689337&#t97689337) This is dedicated to my id, which wanted Arthur/Alfred sex-slave AU. This is totally unbeta-read and shows; I wrote it quickly and purely for smut value, and there was no research involved. Hope you enjoy!  
  
***  
  
The Hunter who caught Alfred was wiry and quick. He was a fantastic shot, too; Alfred barely saw the man before he felt the filigree chain slip over his head, felt the tiny pricks of sleep-poison entering his system. He got a brief impression of haughty green eyes behind a bow still twanging with the shot, and then he went out like a light.  
  
He woke up lying on his back, chained to a bed in the slave stables back at the Palace. Right where he’d begun his time in Brixon, dammit.  
  
It wasn’t his bed, at least not the bed he’d had before, long ago when he’d been a Pleasure slave here. This one was tucked back in one of the private testing corners, blocked off on one side by a wall of soft brown stone smoothed by ancient hands. It was the same stone that made up the walls of the stables and the gardens and the walls around the Palace, and even hadn’t there been that stone, Alfred would have known where he was by the smell.  
  
It wasn’t a bad smell, and never had been – a mixture of freshly threshed grass and Valley Lilies and toasted vanilla oil – it was just distinctive. Like each Palace brewed and kept the secrets of their own pills and potions and poisons, each had their private scent.  
  
Francia, the Palace which had first bought and trained him in the Pleasure arts, had smelled like marjoram and thyme and lightly roasted things. Alfred had constantly been hungry, living there.  
  
He’d almost made it back, too. He’d been a bare few leagues from the Francia Palace grounds and the village where his mother and brother still – hopefully – lived when the Hunter had nabbed him.  
  
In addition to being chained to an unfamiliar bed, he was naked. He’d found and worn clothing on the road and had almost just gotten used to the sensation of cloth next to his skin once again. He hadn’t loved it but it had been handy for having pockets to put things into, and for taking away the chill of nights spent in the woods.  
  
Of course, at the Palace he never need worry about a chill.  
  
Someone was approaching. Alfred heard the rumble of voices, growing louder, and the clomp of shoes on smooth stone. The people weren’t slaves, then. Based on what they said, things about “needs a better pseuderix regimen to keep him docile,” and “no, just more regular plowing, and it seems he’ll get it because the Majesty has taken an interest,” they were talking about him.  
  
The owners of the voices rounded the corner of his alcove and stopped. They wore not only shoes but tunics long enough to cover their midriffs and trousers worn below their knees. These must be Masters, though Alfred did not recognize them. Of course, before he'd escaped he’d spent the last year or so in the Grounds stable and had very well just never met them.  
  
Alfred flopped his head back onto the bed and waited for the test. They'd have to unshackle his feet first, though, if they wanted to get his legs up ... and when they did, he could kick them and--  
  
Well, there wasn’t a damned thing he could do, unfortunately. Not here in the heart of the Palace. He’d have to wait for a better chance, a better time, and be good until then.  
  
After a few moments of silence, Alfred glanced up again. The Masters were just staring at him, examining him up and down like he was back at Market or something.  
  
He didn’t like the looks of ‘em; one was tall and brawny and hook-nosed. His icy stare was calm, but his lip curled up in a creepy half-smile. The other was shorter and darker and wore spectacles, the lucky jerk. Alfred stopped squinting at them and raised his eyebrow instead.  
  
“So you gonna test me out or you just gonna admire me? Sirs?” he asked, surprised at how slurred his voice still was after that sleep-poison.  
  
The tall one’s smile didn’t change at all, though it seemed his expression gained some sense of childish cruelty. He reached over and tugged at Alfred’s limp cock.  
  
“You are not to be tested, escapee. Nor to be beaten. At least not by us.” Alfred had to admit to a little relief at that; he figured he’d been too expensive to permanently injure, but one could never predict what Royalty would order their slave-Masters to do. “Hees Majesty has decided you are to be properly groomed.”  
  
The other guy poked at Alfred’s toes. “Bet you didn’t know that there’s a new Royal running the Palace? How long you been gone? Anyway, the Prince has returned from the wars. You probably saw him when you were captured.”  
  
Alfred shook his head. "Nope. Sirs. Just a Hunter."  
  
"Too bad. Well, he saw you. And now you're going to the baths. We're here to ensure that you make it there."  
  
Alfred shrugged against his restraints. "Ain't gonna try anything in the Palace," he said. "Sirs."  
  
The tall one answered. "We know this. We are here to help you walk. The Majesty brews his own poisons, and the one used on you was quite powerful."  
  
"You were out for more than a day," the spectacled man confirmed. "Lazy."  
  
They unlocked his tiny chains with tiny keys and hauled him off the pallet. Each of them took him by an armpit and together, they marched him off.  
  
Alfred had to admit he was glad for the walk. It cleared out some of the sleepiness and slurriness the poison had given him. It also gave him the chance to look around, see how things had changed in his absence.  
  
It seemed like ages since he'd walked the Palace hallways, but things were still more different than he'd expected. Someone had changed the color of the fires from pink to greenish-blue, a hue that reminded Alfred of the sea, which he'd seen once as a kid. Their scent was the same, as he'd noticed earlier.  
  
Also, it seemed they'd changed the rushes on the floors to something palmlike. The place looked good, actually.  
  
The men first pushed him into the purging room. Once he'd been force-cleaned from the inside, they directed him into the baths so he could be cleaned on the outside. A bath was going to be welcome, not only after the purging but also after his month on the run. He would swear he'd never been so dirty in his life and he suspected that his clothes had carried parasites.  
  
One good thing about being trained as a slave to Palaces as large and wealthy as Francia and Brixon was that they spent a lot of time keeping everyone clean and healthy. Alfred had grown used to that in his years of servitude, and he thought he might have been a little snooty to some of the unwashed folks he'd encountered on the road to Francia.  
  
First, though, the spectacled man produced two pseuderix pills and a small goblet of water. "All right, runaway. Take these like a good boy."  
  
Alfred sighed and took them, not even bothering to hide them under his tongue to spit out later. It had been a pain in the ass getting off this shit the first time; he'd hidden in a cave and shivered for three days before emerging delirium-free.  
  
But he knew the pills would relax him, and if he had to be cleaned for presentation to a new Majesty who might do hell knew what to him, he wanted to be relaxed.  
  
And hooray, in the baths he saw some familiar faces, most of them happy to see him. The other Pleasure slaves gathered around and drew him gently away from the Masters. There was Berwald and Lili and scary little Natalya and Kiku and people he hadn't seen in a year, people who never ventured out to the Grounds.  
  
"Alfred, you're back!" and "Alfred, you naughty thing!" and "Oh, my, you're so hairy!" they cried at him, and dunked him in blissful, hot water and massaged his head with flowery soaps and shaved him smooth from his cheeks to his ass-crack to the insides of his toes. Natalya did not help in this, because she'd once been forbidden to touch sharp things and it looked like that edict was still thankfully in effect.  
  
As he was scrubbed down and rinsed the third time, he felt the pseuderix start to take effect. Things grew even blurrier than normal, soft around the edges and glowy. Numby. His skin began to prickle with arousal at being so clean, at being made ready for Pleasure. His still-unfettered cock thrummed a little, like with happy anticipation. He felt good.  
  
"Alfred! I'd heard you were back!"  
  
He felt even better when he saw who was to oil him down -- blurry or not, there was no mistaking this girl.  
  
"Irina!" he cried, and he wanted to hug her as she bounced up to him but he couldn't, it was forbidden, so he just smiled as widely as he could and hoped she knew how happy he was to see her.  
  
She seemed to, if her answering smile was any proof. "Hi! Sit down, now, I have to hurry but we can catch up really quickly--"  
  
Alfred sat on a stone bench and stretched out his legs so she could rub him down. "So how are you? You look great!"  
  
"And you look skinny." She shook her head, sending her blonde hair swinging. Her fingers on his calves were firm and practiced. Ah, he'd missed being oiled by Irina. She continued chattering as she worked the oil behind his knees and up his thighs. "I'm good. I always missed you, of course, but things have really been calm and happy lately. New management. Spread 'em, there's a good boy."  
  
Alfred obliged by rocking back and spreading his knees so she could rub the oil over his testicles and into his ass. His cock pulsed to life a little at her slick touch; Lord, that felt good, except -- "Ouch! Watch the nails, Irina. So what's the new Royal like? His Majesty? Has he had you yet?"  
  
"No! He's been very polite, though." She finished with his nether regions and moved her hands up to his belly, pinching the loose skin there and scowling. As she oiled up his chest she moved her face close to his ear to whisper, as if imparting a great secret. "He hasn't had anybody yet."  
  
Now that was a surprise. The other Royals, this Majesty's cousins, had crazy sexual appetites and had always taken three or four Pleasure slaves apiece every night. "Really? How long's he been here?"  
  
"Over a month already." Irina moved around to oil his back and Alfred flopped forward, head between his knees. The scent of toasted vanilla rose from his happily numb skin, drowning out the other scents from the fires. She whispered again. "So guess what? Tonight there is to be an orgy and ... I'm to be allowed to choose my partners."  
  
"Wow, you must've been a very good girl!" She had always been very good, very cheerful and obedient. And she was pretty and had enormous breasts, which didn't hurt her appearance any. Though Alfred had always had liked her best for her kindness to him.  
  
She finished his neck up to his hairline, then stood back and nodded. "I have. And now that you are cleaned up and have all that nasty road-smell and hair off of you, I might..." She turned pink and looked down. "Choose you, if you like."  
  
"Irina, I'd love to," he said, and smiled back at her. Again he wanted to hug her, and again he restrained himself from causing that kind of trouble.  
  
Maybe next time he escaped -- because of course there would be a next time, he'd tasted too much the nearness of victory and freedom to not try again -- he'd find a way to take Irina with him. Matthew, his brother, was a shy, quiet sort and would probably adore her to bits.  
  
She turned an even cuter shade of pink. "Oh, good! Well, see you later," she said, and kissing her finger and pointing it at him, she trotted off to finish her other duties.  
  
Oiled and relaxed and half-hard, Alfred sat on the stone bench and dreamed of freedom, until the slave-Masters came to fetch him.  
  
"Why, are you not lovely now?" the tall man said to Alfred, caressing his slick shoulders as he led him off.  
  
"Thanks, Sir," Alfred said, trying not to shy away from the touch. Part of his Pleasure training had been learning how to accept all touch from those who outranked him, and that included just about everyone in the world, didn't it? At least, in the world he knew. He'd heard of others, though.  
  
"You are most welcome," the man murmured with a smile in his voice.  
  
They went not back to the slave stable, but to yet another anteroom, one Alfred had never been in before. It was small and eight-sided, with a small, aquamarine fire burning in a grate in the center. The brown walls were hung with what looked like tapestries that had sea-scenes stitched into them; he'd been right about the color of the fires, Alfred thought, swaying next to the scented fire. The tall guy watched him from the doorway as the spectacled man jiggled a set of keys.  
  
"Gonna get fitted with your chain. I'm locking the door, so don't even bother trying to run."  
  
"Too happy to run," Alfred smiled at their blurry forms. "Too relaxed."  
  
"Good boy," he said, and shut the door.  
  
Alfred swayed in place for a scant minute or so before another door opened, directly across from the one he'd been pushed through. The man who entered was wearing a brown robe over bare legs, and had pale hair that stuck up every which way as if he'd just dried off from his own bath. The man looked familiar. Alfred squinted at him, and it took only a moment to recognize those green eyes.  
  
"Oh, hello, Mister Hunter," he drawled. "Thanks for catching me and everything."  
  
"You are insouciant." The man stepped close, staring up into Alfred's eyes -- he was a little smaller than Alfred, in both height and mass. But not in attitude. Alfred thought it strange that a mere Hunter should be set loose in the castle to taunt him. The man's eyes were very green. Pretty. Like seaweed. So were his eyebrows. Not green, but huge and ... sea-weedy.  
  
"Did they give you something? A potion, or pills?" the man asked.  
  
"Yeah. Pseuderix," Alfred said.  
  
"Pity. I liked the look in your eyes better without it." The man glanced down to Alfred's shoulders. "Well, I am pleased with my shooting, anyway. You have no marks from the noose. You have no scratches on you from your run through the woods, either. By all rights you should be scraped to hell and back. You must be a very skillful runner."  
  
Alfred stifled a drug-giddy giggle. "Yeah, almost outran you, right?"  
  
"What? Hardly," the man cried, scowling.  
  
Alfred shrugged. He shouldn't be saucy, even with Hunters. "Well, I worked in the Grounds for a year. I know my way around plants and stuff."  
  
The man stepped back and looked him up and down. He poked at Alfred's stomach, the stomach Irina had frowned over earlier. "They probably thought you needed the exercise. You look like you might have a tendency to run to fat."  
  
Alfred gasped and despite his resolve to be a good boy, frowned at the man. "No. It's because I'm strong."  
  
"Hmm. And mouthy. We'll have to find a better use for your lips," the man said. He reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled out a navel-ring and chain. "Here we are. Stand still, now."  
  
Alfred stood still, or at least tried to, while the man dug around in the lower half of his navel, trying to find the original piercing. Alfred had ripped his ring out when he'd first escaped, and it seemed that the hole had grown back.  
  
But eventually he got the ring hooked. The tiny chain swung from it, just brushing the base of Alfred's cock. Alfred sighed, not in relief that he once more had the visible markings of a slave, but that the man had stepped away. His touch had done strange things to Alfred's body, making his pulse race and his belly throb. He'd smelled good, standing so close. He smelled smoky, like the _lazan_ tea Yao and some of the other Eastern slaves had used to drink in huddles, late at night in the Grounds stable. It was a smell that reminded Alfred of home and a hearth of plain, old wood.  
  
"There we go," Alfred said, in a shaky voice.  
  
He looked at the man, who quirked his lip. "You're not quite ready yet," he said, and reached down to take Alfred's cock in his hand, roughly at first, then stroking it with gentle, teasing fingers. "Let's see how you respond to some touch."  
  
Alfred responded, and it was just how he'd been trained, he told himself, because he wasn't supposed to get hot for Hunters. But the man's fingers turned steady and firm, pulling arousal out of him with each stroke, and his eyes watched Alfred's closely. Alfred wanted to close his eyes, escape that gaze, but something told him that he shouldn't.  
  
After a few moments Alfred was good and hard and his breathing unsteady. The man wasn't unaffected; he licked his lips as he released Alfred's cock to dig in his pocket again. This time he brought out the cock ring, the final piece of Alfred's servitude.  
  
"Nicely done," he said, and clamped the ring around the base of Alfred's cock. Alfred kissed a silent goodbye to release; boy, when he'd taken off, in between the running and the shudders and the hunger he'd managed to jerk himself off several times a day, just to experience control of his own climaxes. And experience it and experience it, over and over ...  
  
But the male slaves all wore the cock-ring -- the ladies had their own piercings -- and those kept them all aroused until they were either allowed a release or it eased away on its own. That sometimes took a while, around all the naked skin and oil and sex, Alfred could vouch for that. And the accoutrements were filled with potion, too -- any Noble or Master thought you were enjoying yourself too much? Bam, they'd squirt you with a hold drug that kept you throbbing for hours and hours.  
  
"Now you're all ready for the party," the man said in a breathy voice. He cleared his throat and turned away. "The banquet starts at sundown. You will present yourself at the Royal dais just prior to that for instruction in your duties."  
  
"Okay," Alfred said as the man went out the door he'd entered, once again deliberately leaving off the "Sir." The Hunter would be off by then, doing ... whatever it was he did when he wasn't hunting slaves. Alfred silently wished him bad luck in his job.  
  
***  
  
Now that he was properly clipped and ringed, Alfred was allowed to make his own way through the Palace. Not knowing which bed in the stables was to be his, he made his way back to the baths. They were clearing out now that the banquet was approaching.  
  
Kiku hurried by carrying a load of towels to the laundry, nodding at Alfred as he passed. Alfred just waved back. He didn't want to detain Kiku from his duties just to ask stupid questions like "where am I supposed to sleep?" He sat on one of the stone benches and tried to ignore the constant throb of his erect cock, a feeling half-forgotten in the last few months but now that it was present again, something that made itself _very_ present. It was even more difficult to ignore when he thought about the Hunter who'd given it to him. Was that supposed to have happened? Alfred had no clue; new management meant new rules, he supposed.  
  
He also supposed there would be a Master at the banquet who would eventually tell him where to go, once he was all sweaty and exhausted from the orgy.  
  
The idea of an orgy didn't sound so bad. The sex part of being a Pleasure slave wasn't anything he objected to; he was good at that. In fact, he was good at anything they had ever given him to do, except for potion-bottling and flower arranging. He was also good at escaping. He'd just have to learn how to stay escaped, right?  
  
In the meantime, he would attend the banquet, he would fuck or be fucked, and he'd save freedom for his dreams and future opportunities. His training made it easy to slip into learned behaviors, to do what he was supposed to and go where he was told. With decent Masters and Royals, it was not a bad life and very stress-free. Francia had been a great place to live, and it was just too bad about that potion-spilling incident that had finally turned the Head slave-Master against him. How Prince Francis had cried at losing him ...  
  
Alfred looked out the windows and saw the red clouds streaking from the setting sun. He realized he had to haul ass if he was to make the banquet in time.  
  
Thankfully he was good at running and also good at directions, even while doped up on pseuderix. He made it to the dining hall with a few minutes to spare. He stood in the back of the silent line of bare-assed, aroused slaves, wishing he could gossip with someone but knowing it would only buy him trouble.  
  
The dining hall was the same as before and different at the same time. The game-hunting tapestries were the same, the long dining tables arranged around the pillow-strewn floor in the center were the same, and the loud pre-dinner chatter of the guests was something he'd heard many times before. But there were little touches, little differences here and there, like bowls of sea-salt glowing on the pillars, and palm rushes giving the floors a bright green cheer. And were those -- Oh, goody! Those were coconuts, real, live ones, laid out on the tables and around the edges of the slave-floor. Coconuts were fun to break open, for someone as strong as Alfred, anyway, and the milk tasted really good when you licked it off someone else's skin.  
  
The crowd hushed and the Majordomo announced the entrance of their beloved Prince Arthur and his cousins. Alfred craned his neck for a glimpse of his new Royal Majesty, but he was too far back in line to see anything.  
  
At a signal from a Master the slaves surged forward, bowing to the dais before filing into the central sex-pit. The Majordomo held out his arm to halt Alfred's advance, then said "Yes, Sire," and stepped out of the way for Alfred to bow to his Royal Majesty-Master-Thingie.  
  
Alfred bowed and then looked up and -- "Oh, shit," he said.  
  
There was a rush of shocked silence at the dais. The Majordomo gasped and raised a hand as if to slap him out of sheer horror, but Prince Arthur said "Hold." And, well, surely Alfred had to be excused for saying that, because Prince Arthur was his fucking Hunter, ohshit, the one he'd sauced and insulted earlier.  
  
"Er, Sire, Majesty, hello, great to meet you," Alfred babbled, nearly shocked out of his happy haze. The man had the power of life and death and pain over him, ohshit, and it could be that Alfred would never escape again because they'd saw off his legs or something awful like that ...  
  
Prince Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't want to talk to you. Just stand here next to me and be quiet, will you?"  
  
Alfred nodded several obeisances, probably looking like an Easterner in his abject apology. "Yes, Sire," he said, and at Prince Arthur's scowl he shuffled over and stood where instructed. Arthur looked more like a Prince now, wearing a green velvet, gold-trimmed tunic and silken trousers. His haughty expression looked more at home on him in those clothes.  
  
Arthur waved a gold-ringed hand and the slaves on the floor set to work, copulating and sucking for all they were worth, and the crowd of guests set to their gawking and food.  
  
The action on the floor was a little blurry but Alfred saw Irina look sadly up at him. He shook his head in a short movement, and she mouthed something that looked like "oh, pooh." Then she turned to another man. "Roderich, will you fuck me, please?" she said, and he told her he would be delighted. Oh yeah, Roderich. He looked different without his spectacles. Alfred wondered what he'd done to lose those.  
  
Alfred stood and watched, silent as his own grave, and his cock throbbed and he very deliberately did not watch His Majesty eat, for fear of pissing him off further. And then he realized His Majesty was saying something to him.  
  
"Er, Pardon? Sire?"  
  
Prince Arthur rolled his eyes. "I said, if you can't stop shuffling about, then kneel here for a while." He signaled a Master for a pillow -- very polite of him, Irina was right about that -- and Alfred knelt upon it.  
  
He could no longer watch the sexcapades on the floor, but that didn't help abate the pulsing heat in his belly. Down there he could see Prince Arthur's legs next to him, sense their life and heat, could feel Arthur reach over now and then to stroke his hair. At one point Arthur finished his meal and leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs slightly. He sipped a goblet of wine and pulled Alfred's earlobe.  
  
Alfred glanced up in the direction of Arthur's chin. "Would His Majesty like me to suck his cock?" he asked. Many of the Nobles said a good oral job post-eating helped them digest.  
  
Arthur coughed and snapped his legs closed. "Not in public, thank you," he said.  
  
Well, that was too bad, Alfred thought. He might've been able to make up for his earlier fox paws, as Prince Francis had called it, and he would also get the chance to see Prince Arthur sigh and squirm, for Alfred was very good at sucking cock. He'd gotten extra points for it in Training.  
  
And for some reason he really wanted to see Prince Arthur sigh and squirm. Prince Arthur, who hadn't yet boned any of the bevy of gorgeous Palace slaves he'd inherited, was stroking his hair and his jawline ... Alfred felt a thrill of anticipation shudder through his body and settle in his belly to join the hot pulse of arousal that already hovered there.  
  
What seemed a very short time later, Prince Arthur stood. Alfred could hear the hush that swept through the dining hall and felt rather than saw the cessation of all activity, food-wise and sex-wise. But Arthur called out in a clear voice.  
  
"I wish to retire, but ask that you all carry on as usual. Thank you for coming," he said, and bowed to his guests. Then he pulled Alfred up by his earlobe. Alfred's anticipation bloomed like fireworks in his cock; even his fingers tingled when Arthur looked at him. "You will follow me."  
  
"Yes, Sire," Alfred breathed.  
  
The Majordomo bowed and scraped as Alfred followed Arthur out on unsteady legs, made wobbly by kneeling too long and ... other things. "You should have a Guard along with this one, Your Majesty ..." he murmured.  
  
"We'll be fine," Arthur snapped.  
  
Arthur didn't lead him through the Palace but took a sharp right just outside the dining hall, opening the door to one of the building's back stairs. He motioned Alfred through, and slapped his bottom as he climbed the steps to the Prince's Chambers. Alfred had been there only once, long ago when he'd first been brought to Brixon.  
  
The candlelight in the stairway was dim and their shadows long on the trek up. Alfred could feel Prince Arthur's breath on his buttocks, so close, like he might get a touch or a tongue or anything at any moment. He didn't but the eagerness for it was one of the most arousing things he'd ever encountered, almost better than an ass-greasing by Irina.  
  
At the top of the stairs Arthur stepped past him and nudged one of the stones next to a salt-candle sconce. The door swung open into the Prince's dressing-room.  
  
"In," Arthur said. Once inside he shooed away his valet, a Palace servant whose midriff-baring tunic and short sarong declared him a free servant of the Nobles. Tino-- his name was Tino, Alfred remembered. He scooted out and Alfred was left alone with his Prince.  
  
Arthur had beads of sweat upon his forehead. He put a hand atop Alfred's head in an unmistakable gesture. "Very well, Alfred. Put your mouth to use, there's a good boy."  
  
 _Oh, yay, cocksucking._ Alfred knelt and pulled on the drawstring to Arthur's trousers, loosening them to fall around his slender hips. Arthur's cock was already hard; it was uncut, too. Alfred allowed himself a tiny grin as he nudged back the foreskin with his tongue.  
  
Arthur gasped and then sighed, a long, slow release of breath. Alfred pulled his mouth onto Arthur's cock with his tongue, taking it in until he had to swallow and relax his throat; he hadn't been required to give oral for a very long time. Arthur didn't seem to mind, just trickled his fingers through Alfred's hair and swirled his thumbs along the sensitive insides of Alfred's ears.  
  
Alfred shuddered and made up for his delay by swallowing as much of Arthur's cock as he could and rolling his testicles in his palms; he was lightly hairy below the waist, very nice. And even down here Arthur smelled wonderfully smoky. He tasted wonderfully salty, like the sea. He'd been a sailor, Alfred suddenly remembered hearing once.  
  
Alfred closed his lips hard and pulled back, then slid his mouth forward again, and listened to the quickening of Arthur's breath, felt the clench of his muscles through his fingertips. He picked up the pace a bit, fucking his mouth on Arthur's cock. He let his oiled knees slide apart on the slick floor, feeling the cool air on the underside of his own cock, on his ass, greased and waiting after much too long without a proper fucking. At one point as he pulled back, Arthur's hand on his forehead halted the action.  
  
Alfred risked a glance up and Arthur sighed down at him. "You are a lovely shade of pink," he murmured, quirking an eyebrow.  
  
He seemed to want a response; Alfred licked the tip of his cock, tasting some of the semen he'd already drawn out with his skills.  
  
"I'm pleased to be pleasing you, Your Majesty," he said around his swirling tongue.  
  
Arthur scowled and pulled his hair a little. "Cut the slave-talk. It doesn't suit you," he said.  
  
"Yes, Sire. I know, Sire," Alfred said, unable to help a little grin as he did so.  
  
Arthur _hmph_ ed back and pushed him away. "Come with me into my bedchamber," he ordered.  
  
He led the way and Alfred followed, watching as Arthur shucked his tunic over his head, as he nearly tripped over his trousers at his knees. He threw his fine clothing on the floor, where Tino or someone would surely pick it up later. It didn't matter; what did matter was that Alfred was going to be screwed, and oh, he wanted it, even from a wiry shit like Arthur. Who was very polite for a Prince, admittedly, and turned Alfred on more than he cared to admit.  
  
"Up there," Arthur said, pointing to the bed. "And on your knees, please."  
  
"Yes, Sire," Alfred said, and climbed onto the bed and pressed his palms into the soft, slick covers and spread his knees and raised his ass and huffed to cool himself for he was hot all over, burning up with arousal, and it was going to last him a long, long, time, wasn't it? And yes, soon Arthur knelt between his slippery calves and ran his fingers over Alfred's asshole.  
  
"How long has it been?" he asked.  
  
"Uh. A year or more," Alfred admitted.  
  
"Ah, wonderful," Arthur said on what sounded like a sob. Then he grasped Alfred's hips and drove his spit-slicked cock into Alfred's oil-slicked ass, and they both sighed into the still air of the room.  
  
It wasn't still for long; Arthur began to move inside him, filling him with short, sharp movements that felt somehow graceful for all they spoke of a raging hurry. After a few moments his fingers tightened on Alfred's hips and his thrusts deepened, shoved, lingered.  
  
"Yes, yes," Alfred whispered, not even having to remember his Training to show pleasure in the act of being fucked by his Master. He clenched his thighs and rocked his hips to match Arthur's rhythms, which changed constantly from slow and drawn to sharp and gasping. The bed whispered in well-sprung creaks at their movements, and Alfred's chain jingled as his swollen cock bounced against his stomach. He wanted touch so badly, wanted to balance on one hand to tug himself off, or beg Arthur to reach around and wrap his nice, calloused fingers around him. But he didn't, just listened to the creaking and the jingling and their breaths, growing louder in concert, and felt Arthur's cock pounding him inside, hitting every spot that was guaranteed to make him squirm.  
  
How long had it been for Arthur, anyway? And was it a testament or a rebuke to Alfred's skill that Arthur hadn't gotten off yet, even after that blowjob?  
  
Of course, his Master was a potion brewer. He could have cooked anything up for himself, like hold-potions. Alfred's elbows went slack at the thought of being screwed for hours, and he nearly collapsed.  
  
Arthur jerked him back upwards, barely missing a thrust. "Up, up," he told Alfred in a raspy voice. "I wish to come inside you."  
  
"Yes, please," Alfred said, and slave-talk or no, he meant it. He was more than willing to experience a climax at this point, even if it was to be secondhand.  
  
Arthur still took a while, fucking him hard, fucking him in swirling circles, moving Alfred's hips around his cock as he wished. And then he did something surprising but even better: he bent forward, wrapping his arm around Alfred's waist and pulling him close until Alfred could feel the slide of Arthur's belly on his back, until Arthur could move but the slightest bit and Alfred felt the jolt inside his body. Arthur mouthed his pleasure into Alfred's shoulder blade with his soft lips and hot breath and Alfred cried out at the intimacy of it.  
  
Moments later Arthur finally came, grinding his hips against Alfred with a last few jerking movements. Alfred moaned at the cessation of movement and Arthur moaned his long climax into Alfred's skin. Alfred could just feel it, could imagine that build and hovering edge of pleasure and gasping release, had experienced it himself only days ago ...  
  
Still Arthur held him, catching his breath. Alfred thought his own might never be caught again. Finally Arthur released him and pulled away and out.  
  
"Ah. Very good," he said, patting Alfred's ass. Then he lay down beside him and pushed at his shoulder. "Roll over. Let me have a look at you."  
  
Alfred took a deep breath and did as he was bidden, settling his back into the now-sticky covers and staring at the ceiling. It was hung with ... well, they looked like rocks, little white and pink rocks hanging from glittering strings hooked into the wooden beams. Strange.  
  
Arthur propped himself onto his elbow beside him, and Alfred could feel his gaze on his sweaty skin, on his swollen cock -- it had to be pulsing visibly, the way it felt.  
  
Arthur trailed his fingers down Alfred's breastbone, tapping it in a staccato rhythm. "Very good indeed," he said. He gave Alfred's navel-chain a little yank. "Fine craftsmanship, there. These come from Francia, as do you, I hear."  
  
"Yeah," Alfred said, still catching his breath. Then he belatedly added, "Sire."  
  
"That asshole Francis. I took several of his ships, you know."  
  
"Oh," Alfred said. So there was some kind of rivalry there Alfred hadn't known about? He wondered if Arthur's ravishing of himself had anything to do with that, and then he wondered if he wasn't being too hard on himself. He had his own fantastic Pleasure reputation, after all -- at least, he'd had one before he'd been banished to work on the Grounds. (Somehow he might have to get banished again, if he wanted out?) He watched the gentle sway of the rocks in the ceiling, and tried to simply accept the way Arthur stared at him, the maddening trails of sensation his fingers left on Alfred's belly, around his nipples.  
  
Arthur broke the silence with a _hmph_. "Well, I can tell you have a question. Let's hear it."  
  
Alfred's reputation wanted him to ask about it. But Alfred's brain worked sometimes, and he thought better of that. "Um. What are those on the ceiling?"  
  
"What? Hmm," Arthur said. He took Alfred's chin in his fingers and pulled until Alfred was facing him, looking into those sea-green eyes. "Those are corals, from the Southern seas. I have land down there."  
  
"Oh, cool," Alfred said.  
  
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "That's not what I expected. Come now, out with it."  
  
Alfred sighed. "Why me? Here? I haven't been in the Palace for, like, ever."  
  
"Hah!" Arthur smiled, liking that answer better. "I suppose I like to catch my own slaves."  
  
Alfred shrugged. "But I already sort of belonged to you."  
  
"Not sort of. Not any longer," Arthur said. He bent down to lick one of Alfred's nipples, the one he'd been teasing mercilessly for the last minute or so. Alfred moaned and arched up into the heat of his mouth. And then Arthur did the most surprising thing he'd done yet: he crawled over and settled between Alfred's legs, and leaned forward and kissed him. Alfred parted his lips reflexively, a little shocked at being kissed by a Royal, but more than willing to accept the frightening intimacy.  
  
Arthur caressed his cheek and kissed him slowly, deeply, tasting like wine and imperiousness, saying _yes, you belong to me._ Gratified, Alfred dared to raise his hands to caress Arthur's shoulders, to touch where he had not been bidden. Arthur seemed pleased, moaning into Alfred's mouth and licking inside it as his body pressed close and his chest slid against Alfred's oil-and-sweat-slippery skin.  
  
Maddeningly, Arthur never touched his cock, that oversensitized and begging thing, no matter how Alfred squirmed up against him or spread his legs to clench Arthur's scratchy thighs between them. So far gone from dignity was he that he wrapped his legs around Arthur's hips, drawn by something deep inside and beyond the reach of his conscious control.  
  
Arthur was hard again. He knew when Alfred felt it against his belly, for he pushed himself up, licking Alfred's nose and grinning down at him.  
  
"There is a potion in the fire, one I prepared -- I'm sure you can feel it yourself," he murmured.  
  
"Unh, yeah," Alfred groaned. As Arthur pulled away he arched like a wanton, trying to regain that warm skin contact.  
  
But Arthur wasn't leaving, he was just mounting him for a second go-round, and Alfred, so pleased he could almost weep, stretched and lifted one thigh over Arthur's shoulder, leaving his bottom open and waiting, burning and aching to be filled.  
  
Arthur obliged, driving his cock deep with one thrust. Alfred threw his head back and cried out _Ah, ahs_ of bliss. Obviously pleased, Arthur brushed Alfred's hair back from his sweaty forehead as he fucked him, whispering encouraging noises.  
  
Oh, how Arthur fucked him good, rocked Alfred hard and dripped sweat upon his lips. How could Alfred ever wish to run again, when he had a Master that desired him so, made such wonderful use of his body?  
  
"Good, good, my Alfred. Good," Arthur breathed, as Alfred clenched his straining thigh against Arthur's shoulder, his body meeting each thrust with little more than primal instinct. Arthur pounded the pleasure deep inside him, growing it and growing it until it couldn't go anywhere and just when Alfred thought he might burst from it, Arthur slowed his thrusts and his breath, his arms trembling with the effort.  
  
He slowed until his rhythm was little more than a gentle, excruciating glide, slow as the rocking of a boat. Once more he brushed the hair from Alfred's forehead.  
  
"What a pleasure it is to fuck you, Alfred. You are so rosy and slack-jawed," he said, smugness in his voice.  
  
"That seems a little mean," Alfred huffed, feeling unfairly teased when he was being so good.  
  
"Not at all." Arthur slowed to a stop and slid his cock out completely, shuddering as he did so. Alfred's leg slipped off his shoulder and he groaned at the cramp in his thigh.  
  
Then Arthur rolled off him altogether. Alfred winced at the implications of not finishing a good fuck before his Master had climaxed, but Arthur merely smiled and flopped onto his back.  
  
"Up, Alfred. Come and ride me." He pointed unnecessarily at his own swollen cock, wavering with every deep breath he took. "Ride me well and perhaps I shall give you a boon ..."  
  
Alfred scrambled to untangle his aching body from the sheets and to heave a leg over Arthur's hips. He took Arthur's cock in his fingers and took along with it a deep breath before lowering himself, filling himself once more, sinking until his ass barely brushed the soft skin of Arthur's belly. He had to be careful; equestrian was not his finest style, and he'd been told more than once that he was too heavy and thus clumsy at it.  
  
Of course he'd lost weight and ... it felt so good, darnit. Alfred sighed and moved up and down the hard jut of Arthur's cock, hitting himself inside just where he wished it. Judging by Arthur's expression, eyes closed and lips barely stirring, Alfred was doing something right.  
  
Arthur ran his fingers up and down Alfred's ribs and sides and hips and Alfred closed his eyes, dug his knees into the covers and worked his thighs, rolling against the welcome pressure inside him.  
  
He opened his eyes when he felt Arthur's hands clench his hips and yank them forward, hard.  
  
"Fuck yourself decently upon me, Alfred. I'm not made of glass, come now," he said.  
  
"I am .... Sire," Alfred huffed, propping his hands on either side of Arthur's head for leverage. He moved his tired hips faster and Arthur urged him on, his fingers digging into Alfred's skin, and caught his gaze until Alfred couldn't look away, no matter how violently he heaved about. The look and the fucking and the bouncing of his cock and its twisting chain on his tender skin was almost too much ... almost.  
  
"There ... there. Good," Arthur chanted at him, and Alfred clenched his ass-cheeks around Arthur's cock and moved in a rocking rhythm until Arthur gasped mid-chant and his eyes widened with surprise. Alfred felt rather smug about that, until Arthur used his grip on Alfred's hips to pull himself up, so close Alfred could feel his breath on his lips. "Keep going," he said. "Nearly there."  
  
Arthur was directing the show completely at that point, with his mesmerizing gaze and his hands as they yanked Alfred's ass up and down, from side to side, and Alfred could do little more than hold onto Arthur's shoulders and wince and cry out pained _ahs_ every time the tip of his cock brushed Arthur's skin, as the deep throb bloomed in his belly until it was tight, until it hurt, it burned.  
  
"Open your eyes and look at me. Watch me," Arthur huffed between breaths of effort. Alfred opened them and watched, anchored from floating into the sea-colored nowhere by the solidity of Arthur's slimly muscled shoulders, bunching and unbunching under his fingers.  
  
Then, oh lord, Arthur's hips worked in jerky circles as he neared his climax, and oh lord, he grasped Alfred's cock, pulling until Alfred whimpered like a child, like a first-timer.  
  
"Watch me," Arthur whispered again and flicked open the latch on Alfred's ring. Like lightning had struck his spine Alfred came, with heaving gasps and all-over shudders. Arthur watched it all minutely, drinking in Alfred's climax with his eyes and closing them only once, briefly, as he breathed out his own release.  
  
Still Arthur's hand stroked Alfred's cock, as if draining every last spurt of seed Alfred's body could muster, and rocked his hips for a few more thrusts inside as his own cock spent itself.  
  
This time they both rolled apart as if exhausted, which Alfred was. When his chest stopped hurting from the mere intake of every breath and he'd overcome the marvel of a Royal letting him climax, he looked over to see Arthur on his back, lazily stroking his own stomach, spreading the droplets of semen over him like an unguent.  
  
"We need another bath," Arthur said, as calmly as if they'd just finished reading a book. "If you please, you will stay here tonight, and every night that I wish."  
  
"Okay. Yes, Sire," Alfred said, unable to muster up the sauce for anything better.  
  
Arthur had a private bathing room, unoccupied even by slaves for assistance, and eventually he pulled Alfred out of the bed and pushed him into the steaming, scented water. Alfred dunked himself, letting the heat sink into his tired bones, until Arthur stepped over and pushed him against the stone. He kissed Alfred in the water and after a while he pushed himself out to sit on the stone edge and let Alfred suck him off once to completion, sighing and tracing the shape of Alfred's ears with his fingers.  
  
Alfred was hard again from the water and the smoky scent of Arthur and of being wanted, and Arthur reclipped his ring, locking Alfred's arousal in to await ... his Majesty's desire, he supposed.  
  
Back in his chamber Arthur pulled the sticky covers off the bed and tossed them on the floor, exposing clean blankets beneath, and Alfred slept tucked under Arthur's arm, feeling the gentle tug now and then as Arthur toyed with his chain.  
  
***  
  
In the morning Alfred was roused by Tino and sent down to the stables for breakfast. Arthur had already gone somewhere -- to run the Palace or something, Alfred supposed.  
  
Everyone downstairs was all agog to whisper and gossip over Alfred's night in the Prince's bed, over the Prince's choice of a runaway as his first lay back at home. There was much surprise and perhaps some resentment on display when Alfred admitted that he was requested in the Prince's bed until further notice.  
  
"Why, that's a great honor, Alfred!" Irina told him with clasped hands.  
  
"Alfred is comely enough but nothing special," someone, somewhere muttered. "And it's not like there are a shortage of tow-headed Pleasure slaves around here, if that's what His Majesty wanted."  
  
"Maybe he heard how blind you are, Alfred," Gupta joked.  
  
"I think the Prince is very handsome," Irina, ever the loyalist, said.  
  
Alfred thought Arthur was ... comely enough. There was something in him, anyway, that drew Alfred to appreciate his lot more than he might have if, say, Lord Bran had wanted him nightly.  
  
He received his bowl of hot, boiled groats and sat down with Irina to eat. He sighed over the lack of honey on the table to sweeten his groats; in the Grounds stable they'd been allowed honey, perhaps because they were the ones who'd harvested it.  
  
He was starved after his purging and his night of vigorous sex and he'd eaten half his bowl before he voiced a thought he'd been carrying around with him since the previous evening.  
  
He bent close to Irina's blond head, but not so close they'd cause suspicion. "Surely there've been others who ran away? What made them come after me, I wonder?"  
  
"Well, what I heard from Xiao Mei, who had it from one of the Masters, was that the Head Master had given His Majesty the names of the slaves who'd run away in the past year, and told what they looked like. They left on horseback just three days before they brought you back. Just you."  
  
Horses. They'd covered in a couple of days what it had taken Alfred weeks ... He needed a horse. He had always ridden horses better than people, at least he'd been told. Not that Arthur'd had any complaints that Alfred knew of.  
  
And speaking of ... After breakfast he visited the Healers to get the proper potions rammed up his tired ass, things to keep in tip-top, fuckable shape. And after that ... nothing. It seemed nobody had a job for Alfred to do except lay around and stay clean and wait to be screwed by the Prince. He wasn't permitted outside except on the tallest balconies, and he was by no means to be allowed near the potions room. Since he begged and since he was tall he was finally allowed to assist with keeping the salt candles lit, a job that at least let him climb ladders and move around, stretch out his sore muscles.  
  
For every night he came to Arthur's bedroom oiled and aroused, and left in the mornings exhausted and sore and aroused. It was Arthur's whim whether or not he let Alfred climax with him, though he did so more often than not. He seemed to like the way Alfred looked when he did it.  
  
Sometimes he asked Alfred to fuck him and Alfred did, enjoying the tight squeeze of Arthur's body, his hoarse cries and urgings. But those nights he was never allowed to come, just suffer a keening ache that never ended and a tiny desire to possess Arthur the same way he himself was owned, body and soul.  
  
Sometimes there were boons. Once, after slow, leisurely sex that nonetheless left them both breathless, Arthur offered him a boon for an answer to a question.  
  
"Why did you run away?" he asked Alfred in a quiet voice.  
  
Alfred winced inwardly. "To ... to find my brother and my mom. To see how they were doing," he said. What he didn't say aloud was that, well, he'd heard of this land across the sea, where there were no Nobles and no slaves, and where everyone had an equal chance to live their lives as they pleased. To work as hard as they wished and love whom they would. Others had told him he was naive to believe such talk, but Alfred had wanted to believe.  
  
That place seemed further away than ever. Further than dreams, even.  
  
Arthur _hmm_ ed and drew close, nose to nose, and slowly traced the outline of Alfred's lips with his fingertips. "What do you wish in return?"  
  
Alfred thought. He'd always wanted the impossible. But there was one thing ... "May I have spectacles?"  
  
"What?" Arthur cried, and propped himself on an elbow to laugh at him.  
  
"No, really. I can hardly see," Alfred said.  
  
Arthur slid back down to nuzzle Alfred's chest. "Hm. No wonder you squint at everything. You look pained half the time."  
  
"That's not fair!" Alfred cried in return, then added a "Sire," as Arthur began to draw slow circles around Alfred's navel, an erogenous zone he'd discovered early on.  
  
But the next morning Alfred was allowed to choose spectacles from the storeroom. Ever vain despite his nothing-specialness, Alfred chose a pair that might not have corrected his eyesight completely, but which looked well on him (he was also allowed to look into a mirror that morning as well).  
  
At breakfast Roderich approached him, a rare event, and begged to borrow them for just a moment. Alfred obliged and Roderich's fingers trembled as he slid them onto his nose. Then he sighed and pulled them off.  
  
"No. They would not be enough. But thank you."  
  
Love: Alfred had gotten the gossip on Roderich and it seemed he'd lost the privilege of wearing his own because he'd been caught out in a love affair with one of the female Pleasure slaves, an Elizaveta whom Alfred had never met. She'd been sold out up north, to one of the Palaces in the snow full of brawny, bearded warriors.  
  
Roderich's lost expression, glimpsed by Alfred in that moment, reminded him of the question he'd slept on last night, what would have been a more pertinent question for Arthur to ask than _why did you run away?_ That question was, _why do you stay?_  
  
The answer to that question had doused some of Alfred's desire to escape, dimmed his dreams of running away to the western lands across the sea with his mother and brother. They'd been replaced by the way Arthur looked at him, the way he breathed Alfred's name. That possession of his soul.  
  
Alfred had even discovered where Arthur kept his poisons and his potions, and he'd done nothing about it. Was he a traitor to himself?  
  
Love. It made the ordered routine of Alfred's life as a slave feel so much less safe. It made life more painful than dreams.  
  
That night Arthur laughingly removed Alfred's glasses, possessed his body with great tenderness, and then offered Alfred a boon if he would scratch his back _just there_. Alfred scritched at the unreachable spot, and feeling foolish and desperate, used his boon to ask a question of his own.  
  
"Why don't you take any of the other slaves?" he asked, and as Arthur stilled beneath his fingers, added a nervous laugh. "Ha ha. Am I just that awesome?"  
  
"No, just full of yourself," Arthur said, his voice sounding strained, as if it came from a tight throat. He cleared that throat and turned a narrow green gaze upon Alfred. "Perhaps I shall," he said.  
  
The next evening at dinner he chose Natalya for his Pleasure, telling the Majordomo in a voice audible to everyone that he liked the fire in her eyes. That made Alfred burn, with shame at the shock of the others, with fear for having overstepped his bounds, and with some jealousy, yes. After all, Arthur had said he liked the look in Alfred's eyes but had never mentioned any fire.  
  
Natalya preened all the next day, and that evening it seemed Alfred was still to be punished; Arthur called him over to the dais at dinner, only to order him to join that evening's orgy.  
  
Irina, bless her, saw the look in Alfred's eyes and welcomed him with open arms and a willing body. She was soft and he kissed her breasts and held her close as he moved inside her and she made him laugh until the ache in his cock, in his chest, was nearly bearable.  
  
The night after that, Alfred stood next to Arthur at dinner once more. He heard Arthur's pointed silence and saw the stiffness in his seat, the impatience in his gestures. He knew Arthur too well and sensed both the chill and the fire that burned in him, barely controlled emotion undoused by too much wine.  
  
Later Arthur dragged him upstairs and pulled the spectacles off his face and asked him with a curl in his lips: "Did you enjoy it?"  
  
"Yeah," Alfred said, straight and true. And Arthur's eyebrows (how had Alfred ever thought them like seaweed? They were manly and expressive) drew downwards.  
  
"Well, it shan't happen again," he said, and with quick gestures he snapped off his Alfred's cock ring and unlatched the ring at his navel and tossed the set aside; the jingle as they skittered across the floor seemed unnaturally loud. He gestured at the fire in the hearth. "No potions, nothing tonight; just me and you."  
  
He kissed Alfred with fierce, wine-soaked lips and Alfred moaned into his mouth, feeling naked and vulnerable, stripped of the tiny and powerful symbols of his life, anchored only by the mad grasp of Arthur's fingers on his body.  
  
There were no arts he could practice, not when Arthur knelt between his legs and fucked him roughly, fingers clamped painfully around his ankles spreading him wide, holding him open and defenseless. All he could do was clench the bedcovers and gasp out his pleasure in sharp cries, knowing that pleasure was uncontrolled and could overwhelm him at any time.  
  
Arthur chanted at him in whispers, saying, "You belong to me, only to me," and Alfred said "yes," and Arthur said "you're mine, aren't you?" and Alfred answered, "Yes, yes."  
  
"Beloved Alfred. Don't you dare climax until I tell you," Arthur challenged with hoarse breath, an empty challenge because Alfred came even as he said it. Unfettered.  
  
Arthur merely laughed and continued to thrust into him, pressing his palm into Alfred's belly until he jerked out his own climax.  
  
In a quiet moment afterwards Arthur kissed the top of Alfred's head and professed the feelings Alfred, who knew him too well, had already guessed. "I haven't had any others because you were the only one I wanted from the moment I saw you," Arthur told him in a soft, hesitant voice. "Had I seen you at Market I would have bought you. Had I captured a ship with you upon it, I would have taken you. It's maddening how I want you."  
  
I know how that feels, Alfred thought. (He remembered a certain sleeping poison ...)  
  
When they recovered Alfred spread Arthur upon the blankets and rode him well, like a gentle horse (he'd have to find a horse right away, dammit). Arthur called him a "good boy, my boy" and Alfred knew he could be a possession for just a short while longer.  
  
They bathed and made love once more after that, desperate for each other despite the lack of any chemicals in the air. And while Arthur slept, Alfred found his spectacles and tiptoed to Arthur's cache of potions and poisons.  
  
Arthur was a Hunter, and he had ships. Let him follow if he could.  
  
  
 **End.**  
  
 _Thanks for reading! Any comments, critique, appreciated much!_


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